“...guy’s not gonna make it two hours…”

“…closest stop… Third City…”

“…carriage is almost full, but we can squeeze him in…”

Zach tried to focus, to piece together what was happening, but the toxin’s effects made everything feel disjointed. He caught the occasional glimpse of concerned faces leaning over him, their expressions too indistinct to recognize. Then, as suddenly as the noise began, it melted into darkness.

Time passed.

The world spun around Zach in a haze of muted colors and muffled voices.

Shapes danced and blurred together as the carriage sped down the bumpy road, the vibrations amplifying his nausea. Conversations seeped into his awareness, fragments of them carrying meaning but slipping away before he could grasp their full context.

----------------------------------------

When he opened his eyes again, the room around him was in shades of red and yellow.

His head throbbed, the faint burn of the poison lingering like a bad memory. He was lying on something soft—a bed, maybe—and the faint hum of distant machinery filled the silence.

Sitting nearby was a woman dressed in matching red-and-yellow attire, the color striking against her tan skin. On their chest, a symbol of two overlapping hands was stitched prominently into her uniform. The woman—clearly a doctor—was tapping at a sleek device when she noticed Zach stirring.

“You’re awake,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Zach pushed himself upright, his muscles protesting as if he’d run a marathon. He winced but managed a weak, “Still a bit off, but okay.”

The doctor nodded. “Good. That means the worst has passed. You were poisoned, but luckily, it wasn’t life-threatening. A couple of Merak pills neutralized the toxin fairly quickly.”

Zach’s eyes roamed the room as she spoke. It was spotless, almost unnervingly so, with pristine tools and instruments organized on sterile trays. “Is this a hospital? Clinic?” he asked, already knowing the answer but needing confirmation.

“Yes,” she replied simply.

His gaze dropped to the red-colored robe draped over him. He frowned. “Where am I? And what’s with this?”

“The Third City,” she answered, then gestured at his robe. “We had to replace your clothing—it was filthy. No offense. You also seem to have a lot of injuries, you get in a lot of fights?”

Zach ran a hand over the rough fabric of the robe. It was loose and functional, far removed from the clothes he’d been wearing.

“Thanks… I guess.” He hesitated before adding, “I don’t actually remember much. I just kinda woke up in a cave and had to fight some beasts there.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, skeptical but choosing not to press. “A cave, huh? Well, that would explain your injuries.”

Zach shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. “Yeah, maybe hit my head or something. Memory’s a little fuzzy.”

She didn’t look convinced but moved on. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” he said, eager to steer the conversation. “Thank you for saving me.”

“Thank the city governor, not me. Healthcare here is funded by the city cause of his policy, so people like you can get treatment.”

Zach filed that information away for later. “Right. About that… Since I don’t have a place to go, is there any way I could find work here?”

Her expression grew more guarded. “You’ll need a permit just to stay in the city.”

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“A permit? For the city?” he repeated, puzzled. “Not the country?”

“Yes, the city,” she said, as if explaining something obvious. “That’s how it works. If you’re here for labor, you can apply for a Third City Residence Document after a long process. It’s what you’ll need for housing, banking, and so on.”

“What if I wanted to work in pharmaceuticals? I have knowledge in that field,” Zach offered, hoping to leverage his skills.

The doctor gave him a considering look. “For that, you’d need formal schooling—or proof of experience. Some companies conduct tests, so if you’re as skilled as you say, you could skip the long process to get the document.”

“Tests... Any company recommendations?”

She hesitated. “Well, high level knowledge is in demand right now, especially in military complexes focused on chemical warfare. If you can contribute to the city’s defense, they’ll fast-track your residence document.”

Zach tensed. “Chemical warfare?”

“Times are changing,” she said, her voice matter-of-fact. “If you’re interested, I can give you the location of one such lab.”

He hesitated, weighing his options. Then, nodding reluctantly, he asked for directions.

---

The hospital was an imposing structure, its yellow walls glowing in the sunlight, the overlapping red hands symbol towering above the entrance. Its conical roofs dominated the skyline, a stark contrast to the flat, sprawling buildings of the surrounding city.

Zach wandered for what felt like hours, weaving through crowded streets. Vendors called out from makeshift stalls, hawking supplies in preparation for a war Zach could only hope was an exaggeration.

“Stock up now! Droughts and shortages are coming!”

“Protect your family before it’s too late!”

His gaze lingered on recruitment posters plastered across walls and kiosks. Bold slogans urged citizens to enlist:

**“Become a Knight. Evolve into an IronBreaker. Don’t let your world become a wasteland again.”**

*Sounds bad. Hopefully just paranoia.*

Eventually, he reached the outskirts of the city. The building was a stark, gated facility, its white walls gleaming against the dusty surroundings. Guards stood watch, their eyes scanning every approaching figure with suspicion.

As Zach approached, a very 19th century looking jeep pulled up nearby, a relic from another era with polished chrome and a low rumble.

Zach was surprised that technology like that existed here. Perhaps automobiles were incredibly expensive, making only the wealthy afford them?

An older man stepped out, his sharp black robe at odds with the rugged guards flanking him. He noticed Zach lingering by the gate and approached.

“Looking for something, young man?” the old man asked, his voice sharp but not unkind.

“Yes,” Zach replied, his tone firm. “I want to apply for a job.”

The old man regarded Zach with a skeptical squint, his lined face revealing neither hostility nor trust. His question came bluntly, voice gravelly with age and authority. “What school did you go to?”

Zach, maintaining his composure, leaned forward slightly. “None. I didn’t attend any formal schools. But I’ve read extensively in chemistry, physics, and most sciences.”

The old man nearly chuckled, his lips twitching in what might have been a smile or a sneer. “Sure. Guess you’ve been busy breaking the law then. Everyone here learns, one way or another. No other choice. But fine.” He waved dismissively. “I’ll test you myself. If nothing else, I’ll see whether you’re full of it.”

Zach raised a brow but said nothing. It seemed pointless to argue.

“Before that—residence papers. If you pass, you’ll need them.” The man’s voice was nonchalant, but his sharp eyes darted to Zach with suspicion. “You have those, right?”

“No.” Zach shrugged. “I’m not a resident of this city. Or any city.”

That caught the man off guard. He tilted his head, gaze narrowing further. “Not a resident?” His tone was tinged with disbelief. “Where are you from, then?”

“I’m not tied to any place,” Zach replied simply, choosing his words carefully. “Just passing through.”

For a moment, the man stared at him like he was inspecting a curiosity. Finally, he grunted. “Name?”

“Zach James.”

The old man’s expression softened marginally, though the wariness never left his eyes. “Geroi,” he introduced himself, his tone clipped. With a nod, he turned and signaled to the guards flanking the gate. The heavy iron doors creaked open, revealing the sleek, sterile architecture of the facility beyond.

Geroi gestured for Zach to follow. Inside, the building buzzed with an undercurrent of controlled chaos—lab-coated figures darted between rooms, machines hummed with a rhythmic intensity, and the air carried the faint scent of antiseptic and something faintly metallic.

An employee appeared almost instantly at Geroi’s side. “Take him to the testing room,” Geroi ordered. “He’s to do the full protocol.”

Without a word, the employee led Zach down a long corridor, his footsteps echoing on the polished floor. They entered a small, windowless room furnished with a single table, two chairs, and an array of scientific equipment Zach didn’t immediately recognize.

“First, a blood test,” the employee said, reaching for a syringe.

Zach’s brow furrowed. “A blood test? Why?”

“Cityzens have altered blood,” the man explained matter-of-factly, filling the syringe with a practiced ease. “It’s how we tell residents apart from outsiders. Security measure.”

Zach clenched his fist as the needle pierced his skin. The employee collected a small vial of blood and carefully deposited it into a tube of strange, shimmering liquid. The substance bubbled violently for a moment before settling into a crimson hue.

The employee nodded, satisfied. “We can proceed.”